


All I Ever Want Is You

by AFey



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-13 01:18:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13559598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AFey/pseuds/AFey
Summary: Wanting Miranda is Andy’s constant. Her variable? What does Miranda want?





	All I Ever Want Is You

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the song by Megan Davies
> 
> Here I am posting a one shot despite my WIPs....I’ll show myself out.

Andy stares from across the room and sighs as yet another fawning man approaches Miranda with the expectation of being remembered. A stylish, blonde assistant leans towards the editor and from experience, she knows the relevant name is being whispered discreetly. In response, Miranda pastes on a smile and extends a hand towards him, acting like the pleasure is all hers. She’s witnessed this performance many times before and it’s easy to determine those in favour with the Queen of Fashion and those who are in exile. For the record, she's definitely been banished to the clearance bin.

She only has herself to blame. Walking out on her former boss during Paris Fashion Week counts as a major career transgression, but turning up hours later at her room, drunk and spouting confessions of love, remains the bigger sin. Grand displays of emotion will never earn La Priestly’s respect and Andy counts herself lucky that Miranda actually deigned to write her a letter of recommendation.

During the first few weeks at her new job, Andy called to offer her thanks. She may well be the other woman’s ‘biggest disappointment’, but the rest of the recommendation was enough to secure her future. After being told for the fifth time that Miranda was in a meeting she gave up. Even so, she’s not embarrassed to admit the letter still sits in a drawer at home, dog-eared after five years of countless unfolding and re-reading.

Andy finishes her glass of champagne just in time to exchange it for a fresh glass carried on a tray by a dutiful waiter. As she tunes into a nearby conversation, the topic switches from one titbit of scandalous gossip to another. In desperation, she looks around for Nigel and suppresses a glare when her target is located. After insisting the gala would be absolutely wonderful he’s off working the room, leaving her behind like the proverbial wallflower. It’s not that she needs anyone babysitting her at social events; it’s just that being surrounded by executives and out-of-touch socialites is deathly boring and only interesting when she has someone entertaining by her side.

To make matters worse, he’s not technically lying. Everything else about the night might suck, but Miranda looks absolutely wonderful in a trademark black Valentino gown, an expanse of creamy skin on display. It’s the editor’s job to look like perfection and she never disappoints. From the perspective of someone still under her spell though, Andy wishes Miranda would occasionally fail and make her life a little easier. Every time she’s in the same room as the woman - which given Andy's recent success is far too often - she’s reduced to a yearning fool just waiting to be noticed. It never happens.

As she looks around the room, sipping her champagne, a flash of silver and black catches her eye. Miranda is walking towards a group of well-dressed Wall Street types and Andy decides now is as good a time as any to call it a night. Unless she's the intended recipient, having a front row seat to the Priestly charm offensive is more than she can bear. Placing her half-empty glass on the table beside her, she moves towards the cloakroom to retrieve her coat, waving a casual goodbye to Nigel on the way. He raises an eyebrow and points at his Rolex, an unmistakable sign that he thinks it's far too early for her to leave. She smiles and shrugs, continuing on her way. This is the joy of being single and relatively unimportant - she can make her escape whenever she wants.

Waiting for a cab fifteen minutes later she's starting to rethink the value of being unimportant. If she had more status there'd be a handy town car waiting to whisk her away on such a cold night.

“You certainly know how to make an exit,” a familiar voice declares behind her. She’s pretty sure it’s not the weather that’s responsible for the resultant goosebumps.

She turns around, taking care in her heels. No matter how many times she wears them, it’s never a comfortable experience. “Well, I learned from the best,” she says casually, looking at Miranda and hoping her admiration is well-masked. 

Miranda’s car pulls up at that moment and Andy swallows a sigh of relief. In a moment she’ll be alone and there’ll be no need to pretend every moment in the editor’s presence isn’t the most exquisite torture.

Miranda smiles and her eyes gleam as if she is well aware of the effect she’s having. “Would you like a ride?”

It’s probably that stubborn pride of hers overriding common sense because before she realises it she’s opening the car door for Miranda and saying, “that’s a generous offer. How could I refuse?” When a smirk is given in response, she realises she’s behaved in a completely predictable manner.

Andy waits until Miranda’s settled in the back seat and then calmly closes the door. There’s no way she’s revealing how unsteady this entire situation is making her. When she reaches the other side of car, she takes a deep breath and opens the door. The sight of the closed privacy screen indicates the possibility of trouble. But there’s no way she’s backing down at this point.

“I always did like you in Chanel,” purrs Miranda, watching closely as Andy gets into the car. The flip flopping of her stomach and the impulse to clench her thighs signal approaching danger.

“Really? Do tell,” Andy replies, affecting a bored tone as she buckles her seat belt.

Miranda touches a finger to her perfect lips as if she’s giving the matter serious thought. She uses the same finger to brush an errant lock behind her ear and says, “well, if you’re not interested in hearing my opinion....”

Andy realises she doesn’t have the energy for whatever game she’s signed up for. Over five years of pining is mentally exhausting. “What’s this all about, Miranda? You refused my calls five years ago, and have ignored me ever since. Now it feels like you’re flirting with me.”

“I refused your calls because you weren’t ready for me then, Andréa,” she replies in her usual quiet tone. “But tonight I thought you might be.”

“Ready for you?”

Miranda clears her throat and continues, “Ready for me to love you back.”

At that, Andy lets out a loud laugh. It lasts as long as it takes for her to notice the pursing of Miranda’s lips and the tensing of her shoulders as she turns away.

“Hold on. You’re serious?”

The silence that greets her is an obvious sign the Snow Queen is freezing her out. She can’t blame her. Five years ago when Andy spilled her secret, Miranda was classy enough to let her down gently. The situation had obviously made her former boss uncomfortable but she was at least gracious about it. There was certainly no inappropriate laughter.

“I’m sorry, Miranda. It’s just...well, you took me by surprise. I had no idea.”

“Of course you didn’t,” she replies, shrugging her shoulders. “You were my ex-assistant and I was newly separated. It was hardly the time to start a relationship with a woman half my age. Especially one in the early stages of her career.”

”And now?”

”Well, there’s obstacles of course. The tabloids will still be brutal.”

“I thought you didn’t care what they wrote about you?”

Miranda turns around and Andy is shocked to see the glimmer of tears in her eyes. She’s not sure she can handle an emotional Miranda. She’s not sure anyone can.

“I don’t. However, I do care what the write about you.”

“Oh,” she says, well aware that it’s a completely inadequate reply given the circumstances. For five years she’s been hoping for a moment just like this and then she blows it, first by laughing, and then by responding in a completely underwhelming manner. Anyone observing this exchange would hardly believe she’s an award-winning journalist.

“But why now, Miranda? Tonight’s hardly the first time we’ve seen each other since I left _Runway_.”

”Let’s just say a mutual friend suggested you might be receptive. I’m starting to think he’s either sorely mistaken or exacting a long-awaited revenge.” 

“Not revenge and definitely not mistaken” Andy says, the pieces of the puzzle coming together. “That explains his insistence about this dress. ‘Non-negotiable Six’ were his exact words.”

Miranda smiles. “The man’s a genius. Of course, you make it easy for him.”

Andy smiles in return, even as a blush threatens to betray the effect of Miranda’s words. “So, what’s next?”

”I suppose we should be sensible and discuss how we can make this work. There’s a lot to consider. Our age difference. My girls. The media.”

“Yeah, we probably should,” she says, unbuckling her seat belt and sliding across the seat. “But I think I’d rather hear your thoughts on this dress.”

A raucous laugh follows and Andy reaches for Miranda’s hand. “I’d also like to know your feelings about those Chanel boots.”

”Hmmm, I think you might have to refresh my memory, Andréa,” Miranda says, as she squeezes her hand.

Andy reaches out and runs her fingers through Miranda’s hair. It’s even softer than she dreamed it would be. ”If you come up to my apartment I could arrange a private showing,” she teases. 

Miranda smiles and places her other hand on Andy’s knee. “There’s nothing else I’d rather do.”

  


End file.
